I will say Michelle's story in the game made me feel uncomfortable, as it reminded me how I was also acquainted with violence in my childhood home.
Word Count: 494 words. Adjectives used: Comely, lachrymose, irksome, execrable, limpid, cerulean (Challenge indicated I had to use at least 2 from the master list)
"Five minutes until show time, students."
Michelle swallowed the lump in her throat as Mr. Bailey took his position before the student orchestra, a baton in his hand. Her violin stood beside her chair, her bow resting upon the music stand before her.
A nudge drew her attention, and she glanced up to meet a pair of limpid cerulean eyes. Strawberry blonde hair crowned the comely boy's head. Normally, she would have giggled at any attention being paid to her by Chester McMillan, but she had felt utterly lachrymose in the weeks following her mother's murder.
"Michelle, a few of us were wondering, do you want to get a soda after the concert?" Chester inquired with an earnest smile.
Michelle smiled sadly. "I'd like to, but Dad wants me to go home tonight."
He nodded his head with an adjustment of his tie, and turned away to converse with a male student.
Dad hadn't allowed her to leave the house for much other than school. Michelle, as a result, became alienated from her friends, whose invitations were politely turned down.
She couldn't help but feel guilty. She'd hated her mother's irksome obsession with jewelry, and she'd despised her father's execrable anger and emotional distance. Empty nights had passed, her father listlessly watching Mary Kay and Johnny in the living room, cold beer in hand, while her mother wondered what necklace would go with her butterfly brooch, a yellowed bruise upon her face. Her bow sung across the strings, effectively blocking out the screams of her parents, the mere crack of her door causing her father to slam it back shut.
Standing dejectedly before Bailey's desk, she explained her loss. Rolling up his sleeve with a sympathetic expression, her instructor revealed to her his prosthetic limb, a "souvenir" from the war. "Miss Moller, I give my sincerest condolences for your loss. While I can fault you not for your wish to quit this class to grieve, I would miss having you in my orchestra."
"But sir," she began, finding her voice once more, "I'm not a star."
Bailey smiled at that. "Neither was I, but what brought me back to the violin was my passion for the instrument itself. As musicians, we play not because we wish to best the music, but because the music is our life."
Michelle smiled back, and Bailey dropped his sleeve back into place. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."
Michelle picked up her bow, the curtain drawing apart to reveal the seated family members and friends of the students. Someone coughed, and a baby cried. Michelle didn't bother looking for her father, as it would be impossible to locate him.
She placed her cheek to the side of her instrument. No more fights, no more wishing to throw her mother's jewelry box out the window, no more standing still while her mother hemmed her dress just so…The baton waved, and Michelle let go.